


open the door to heaven or hell

by chaosy



Series: caveat [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Courtroom Drama, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosy/pseuds/chaosy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The question,” Murdock says, in that soft voice of his. “Is not whether the Winter Soldier is responsible for these crimes. It's whether James Buchanan Barnes is.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	open the door to heaven or hell

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [United States v. Barnes, 617 F. Supp. 2d 143 (D.D.C. 2015)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304905) by [fallingvoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingvoices/pseuds/fallingvoices), [radialarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch). 



> this is my first time writing stucky fic. please be gentle. i thought hey, what if matt murdock was bucky barnes's lawyer?
> 
> this fic is pretty much a slightly-altered version of the terrific United States v Barnes. you don't need to read it for this one to make sense but you should, because it's amazing
> 
> i have absolutely no knowledge of the american legal system aside from what i've researched. this fic is unbeta'd - any mistakes and inaccuracies are my own.
> 
> come say hey at roma-nov.tumblr.com! (i've moved from martinisms)

The Nelson and Murdock office is comprised of a few sparsely furnished rooms. The walls are bare save for a few generic bits of art – probably came with the place, Natasha assumes. There are a few newspaper clippings on a corkboard. A paper on the desk.

_Daredevil Collars Fisk_ . Natasha smiles.

There's a pale woman sitting at the desk, typing quietly. She's tall, bony, her skin almost translucent, her hair hanging down in a pale yellow waterfall. She hasn't heard her come in, but that's fine. Natasha coughs politely and the woman's head jerks up.

“Oh, my – oh gosh, I'm so sorry, hello, I -” She stands up, her hands flitting like nervous birds. She's going to offer her tea, or coffee, but she's tied between that and asking why Natasha is _here_ , so she struggles for a moment. She looks slightly lost for words, so Natasha helps her out.

“I was looking for Mr. Murdock. I believe he can help out a friend of mine,” she says, kindly. She can be kind. Rogers always says she's _a little harsh with the everyday civilian – they're people too, Romanov_.

The blonde woman currently bustling around, telling her that Messrs Murdock and Nelson are out at the moment, asking if she can get her a cup of coffee, is  _people too_ . Although she seems a little nervous. Either it's because hey, Nelson and Murdock have an  _actual client_ , or the fact that Natasha is wearing six inch high Louboutins. 

What? They're pretty.

“I can wait,” she says, and accepts the tea with what she assumes is a grateful smile. She's a good actress, but acting can be trying when it's so constant. She wants to _feel_ gratitude, interest, attraction. _People_ stuff.

She's not people. Then again, neither is Mr. Murdock, who walks through the door laughing with Mr. Neslon elbowing him at his side.

Nelson looks a little embarrassed at seeing her. The odd thing, though, is that he doesn't tell Murdock that they have a client. He doesn't even say anything, just schools his laughter, gives her an awkward nod.

So, Nelson knows, then. The blonde woman doesn't because she instantly introduces Natasha as a new client.

“Good morning,” Murdock says, in a smooth, quiet voice. Natasha gives them both a smile, stands to greet them.

“Good morning,” she says. He holds out a hand for her to shake, and she does, repeats the gesture with Nelson. Whose eyes flick over her unsubtly, but it's not in a way that makes Natasha bristle. It's actually kind of sweet. Like a child, staring at a pretty girl across the playground.

Nelson and Murdock guide her into their office, sit her down. She declines a second cup of tea, and Nelson (who is affectionately dubbed  _Foggy_ by everyone in the office; why? New data, Natasha thinks) quickly makes himself coffee as Murdock politely introduces himself. 

“Would you mind shutting the door?” Natasha asks, politely. “This is a very confidential matter. I hope you don't mind,” she says, to the blonde woman.

“It's okay, Karen,” Murdock says. _Karen_ (data) immediately moves out of the room, shuts the door with a gentle click. Nelson already looks more serious. 

These people are practically eating out of Murdock's hand.

Natasha straightens her blazer and waits until Nelson sits himself down. “My name is Natasha Romanov,” she says.

Nelson chokes on his coffee.

They wait until he's stopped coughing and Murdock has given him a swift whack on the back before they carry on. “I trust you've heard the news. The arrest of Sergeant James Barnes,” she says, and pulls a file out of her bag and hands it to Nelson. She pulls out another one and hands it to Murdock.

Murdock's hands trail over the paper, smiles faintly. “Braille. Very considerate of you. Most new clients aren't aware of the – well,” he says, gesturing to himself.

“You've been on our radar ever since Fisk, Mr. Murdock,” Natasha explains. “A little messy, in my opinion, but we're grateful. He was causing us trouble.”

The air in the room has gotten a little thinner. Nelson's eyes are wide and fearful. Murdock doesn't have any kind of expression at all. “I'm not sure what you're talking about, Miss Romanov,” he says. “And I'm not sure who  _we_ is.”

“SHEILD,”Natasha says, waving a hand airily. “Or, what it should be. What we're trying to build. We didn't come across you until _after_ SHIELD fell, so your identity is quite safe.” She circles a finger around the rim of her empty teacup. “I like the horns, by the way.”

There's complete silence in the room. It's fine. Natasha can wait.

She can just about see the faint muscle movement in Nelson's thigh. He's tapping out morse code silently with his foot – smart, good for a blind guy with enhanced senses. Dot dot dash dash dot dot. It's a question mark.

Murdock turns slightly to him, and shrugs. It's a little unnerving. The guy is kind of quiet and pale and doesn't emote a lot with Natasha in the room.

“We may call on you, if we need you. Not as a lawyer,” she adds. Hopefully that sweetens the deal. Everyone wants to be an Avenger. Nelson has a _Captain America mug_ , for Christ's sake. 

Once again, Murdock doesn't really say anything. He shrugs again. “I'm happy to help,” he eventually says, in that soft voice. Nelson looks like they really need to discuss this further but Murdock quite pointedly turns back to the file Natasha handed him.

Nelson mutters something about  _ goddamn superheroes _ and  _ no communication skills _ . 

“James Buchanan Barnes is an innocent man,” she says, settling back, letting them read.

Nelson's eyebrows raise, probably not of his own accord. “They're speculating that he was responsible for JFK's assassination,” he says.

Murdock speaks, as well. “The trial is already receiving massive amounts of press and there hasn't been a date set yet. People are saying it's a sure-fire guilty verdict.”

“Exactly,” Natasha says, leaning back. “Which is why I need you to defend him.”

-

His memory is sunlight through leaves. Ephemeral. Fragmentary.  _Fucking patchy_ .

There is no natural light in the cell. There's a fluorescent that floods the place in cold, sickly light. It makes the Soldier – James Buchanan –  _Bucky_ look more like a ghost than he already is.

The target – the man on the bridge –  _Steve_ visits him a lot. Almost every day. Bucky isn't even sure that's allowed but maybe they're making exceptions. America has always made exceptions for its Captain. So has Bucky, but for vastly different reasons.

There's not a lot to do all day. He's in a maximum security facility. There are guards outside his door, which has five different locks on it, all uncrackable. The walls are steel and stone.

The light above him buzzes every so often. It makes it difficult to sleep. Bucky had to rip up part of his pillowcase and fashion it into a blindfold to block out the light, but the blindfold itself makes him edgy, so, no win.

_Not really a situation where anyone wins, Buck_ and he gasps softly, rearing up, metal hand scraping over the wall. Something Captain – Steve, Steven Grant Rogers, said. In the mud? There was certainly a lot of mud.

“In one of the camps in France,” Steve says to him, the next day, in a visiting room. Bucky is cuffed to the table. Steve sits opposite him. Steve's hands twitch.

“You were right, though, there was a lot of mud. Rained every day,” he carries on. Bucky doesn't say anything. He's not feeling particularly – verbal. “We pitched our tents on a hill but there was still mud everywhere.”

Bucky stays quiet, so Steve keeps talking. “The winning comment – ah, Jeez, Bucky, one day your memory is gonna be better than mine -” ( _No it won't_ ) “- I think I was losing my hope a little bit. In France, well. It was a bloodbath. Lot of people died. Everyone had a moment of – being down.”

Steve always selects his words very carefully when they talk. Bucky doesn't remember that about him, but hell, he doesn't remember much about Steve. He just  _knows_ him.

“You said we were gonna go home soon. We were gonna win the war,” Steve says and his voice gets quieter. Bucky blinks at him.

_Why are you doing this?_ he thinks, not for the first time.

Steve breathed out, leans back, keeps blue, blue eyes fixed on him. “I said no one really won.”

Bucky wants to say, _you_ won. You got the girl, the rank, the strong shoulders to hold up the rest of the world. But then he remembers Steve telling him he'd been on ice for seventy five-odd years and shuts his damn trap.

Steve sits in silence with him for a while. At first, when he found him, Steve was always talking. Asking him too many questions. It was fucking irritating. Bucky doesn't _know_.

It's a terrible, terrible thing, but he's almost grateful for the arrest. The redheaded woman ambushed them on the street with helicopters and agents, saying _we had no choice_ and _this could've been private_ and Bucky was arrested at the corner of Fourth and Fremont, fingers flesh and metal lacing behind his head as they swarmed on him. The holding cell doesn't have Steve's desperate blue eyes.

Bucky does _remember_. Not all of it. He has flashes of this or that. Mostly unimportant stuff, objects and places and blurred faces. But he has a few sharp, clear memories that cut through his head, give him a migraine.

(BUCKY, _without thinking_ : Who's the lady in the red dress?

STEVE, _without hesitating_ : That's Agent Carter.)

Steve could see red now. Was Steve colour blind? Bucky has no memories of that.

“Were you colour blind?” he croaks. Steve considerably brightens opposite him.

“Sure was. Terrible vision. The serum fixed – well, everything. You got memories of that?”

Bucky shakes his head, then nods it. Shrugs. He looks like a marionette. He _is_ a marionette. “I didn't know. I asked you – who this dame was, in a red dress, and you knew who I was talking about. You could see the red,” he explains, haltingly. He still doesn't like talking. He didn't talk on missions, almost never talked to his handlers. It's a hard habit to snap back to.

Steve looks oddly proud. “Agent Carter,” he says, and his voice holds the same level of awe and respect that he has in Bucky's memory.

“You got a girl I don't know about, Rogers?” The words just sort of slip out. Teasing Steve was something he _did_. Sometimes he's Bucky, sometimes he's – not the Winter Soldier. Someone else. No one.

Steve laugh quietly, looks at his hands. “You know I don't. No, we could've been something, but then I had to crash that damn plane.” He sounds wistful. Bucky once asked, early on, if Steve wished he could go back. Steve said no. Bucky believes him.

This girl must've been special if she makes Steve want to go back.

“I talked to her yesterday – she said she'd testify at your trial. Her memory isn't what it used to be but she's still sharp.”

“Trial,” Bucky mutters. The word itself feels like a death sentence, probably will be in a few weeks.

Steve nods, fixes those eyes on him again. “We got you a lawyer. One of the best, Natasha says. His name is Matthew Murdock. Blind guy, real nice.”

_Real nice_ won't win him an acquittal against charges of seventy two counts of murder, treason and terrorism, but Bucky doesn't say that. He knows the difference of when he just needs to be quiet and when he's being an asshole.

“You'll meet him tomorrow,” Steve tries.

Bucky stares at the floor.

He's gotten worse, since he's gotten here. His memories trickle back and they grab at him, twisting him up. Sometimes they're nice, like ones of Steve, far skinnier and smaller than he is now, laughing and bent double. Sunlight through dusty windows in a Brooklin apartment.

Other times, he remembers killing.

Steve leaves, with promises that he'll be back soon, that he'll try and get them to give him his arm back, that he'll get him some good food, that he'll -

_Stop_ , Bucky hopes.

He loves Steve. He knows that. Loves him so powerfully and deeply that he feels like he's in the middle of a hurricane. Past-Bucky loved him since that time Steve laughed so hard he hiccupped, and present-Bucky holds onto that.

The problem is that present-Bucky doesn't know anything else.

//

Matt Murdock, his lawyer, is accompanied by a Franklin Nelson. They introduce themselves. Murdock seems slightly more comfortable with Bucky's ragged appearance and empty expression than Nelson is. Probably because Murdock can't see him.

The lack of the metal arm seems to relax them both, though.

“We've been working on your case,” Murdock says. He has a blank few sheets of paper in front of him, covered in little bumps. _Braille_ , his brain reminds him.

“We, uh, have a draft of questions they might ask you, and a testimony for you,” Nelson says. “It's important that you're honest about your memories. Your emotions. The world needs to see that James Buchanan Barnes is someone they need, not someone they should lock up.”

Bucky gives a hallowed smile. “I think they've already done that last one,” he says. There's a brief pause, and then; “Am I James Buchanan Barnes?”

“That's up to you,” Murdock says. He's studying Bucky rather unsubtly. He holds himself at an odd angle. Bruised ribs, Bucky thinks. Wonders why. Doesn't ask.

There's a moment of quiet. Nelson opens his mouth to talk again but Bucky cuts him off.

“Can you win my case?” he says.

More silence. In the war, there was too much noise. Complete commotion, all the damn time. Gunfire, shouting, singing, crying. Endless chatter. Bucky craves it, now.

“I'm quite confident that we can,” Murdock tells him, and Bucky knows he's telling the truth. “Whilst your faith in Mr. Nelson and myself might not be as strong, I believe we can win your case. There is a staggering amount of evidence which highlights your lack of involvement in the murders.”

Bucky blinks at him, suddenly thrown. “But I pulled the trigger,” he says.

Nelson scribbles something down on a piece of paper. His writing is so illegible that Bucky can't read it upside-down. “Hydra was the one that forced your hand. Captain Rogers's word goes a long way. And he's not the only one.”

Always did, Bucky thinks. Even when he was a skinny little moron.

“Let's start with this,” Nelson says, and slides a photo over to him. “Tell us what you remember about it.”

It's the chair. Bucky remembers a pressure against his head, mouthgard breaking against his teeth, pain, blood,  _please, no, no no no -_

//

“All rise.”

Bucky feels like he's going to fall over.

The prosecution is a sharp-looking Venezuelan woman, hair pulled back into a severe bun and with bright, intelligent eyes. She casts a glance at Nelson and Murdock as they all stand, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky doesn't blame her. Between Nelson's bizarre haircut and Murdock's stubble and their cheap suits, they hardly look like a winning team.

He doesn't listen to Judge Imani Rey. She – if possible – looks even more stern than the prosecution ( _Hannah Mendez,_ he learns). Bucky is reminded of every teacher he ever had. The memory hits him in the side and he shifts awkwardly. Murdock glances at him, turns back to the floor.

Weird guy, Bucky thinks. Weird, weird guy.

They sit down. Steve sits right behind him in the stands, has his eyes fixed on Bucky this whole time. Bucky wants to reach out, hide himself behind Captain America like the rest of the world so often has. He feels sick.

Next to Steve is another guy, a black guy with tired eyes. Bucky recognises him. The man with wings. Bucky clipped one of them, he wonders if he can still fly.

Medez stands up to make her opening statements.

_Fucking fuck,_ Bucky thinks.

//

“Please state your name and occupation for the record.”

“Joanna Lee Andrews. I'm a chef.”

Mendez peers at her with an almost scientific air. “Daniel Marcus Andrews was your father?” she asks.

Joanna casts a glance at Bucky in the stands. He does his best to look like the guy who didn't kill her dad. “Yes,” she says.

An image comes up onscreen. A man, middle-aged and slightly fat, with wispy brown hair smiles out winningly at them all. Bucky doesn't recognise him. “Is this your father?” Mendez asks, and Joanna says, yes, again.

“Could you tell us about the night that he died?”

Joanna swallows. She's quite visibly upset. Her hands quiver a little, her voice catches. “I was ten. It was just dad and me, really. My mother was – out of the picture, had been since I was born. I was woken up by a noise, went to see what it was.”

She breathes in and out for a while. Mendez's severe demeanour morphs into something gentler, and her voice softens. “Take your time, Miss Andrews.”

It's a little bizarre.

“Dad was in the kitchen. He had – he had just fallen, when I stepped in. There was a lot of blood,” Joanna says, voice thin, pained.

There's complete silence in the courtroom as she speaks. “It was dark, but I saw a man. He, he was just on his way out of the window. His left arm was gleaming, like -” She cuts off, looks directly at Bucky. Very theatrical, but it's natural. She's very upset. “Like metal.”

He's half expecting the crowd to gasp, to applaud her as Mendez rounds off her questions – asking about her father, some of the heavily illegal things he did in his time working for the White House - and thanks her for her time. It's fucking weird, looking at this woman whose life he changed completely and irrevocably but having no recollection of doing so.

Steve is staring at him. Bucky isn't looking back but he knows he is. He's probably got that haunted look, like the one he got when he first saw Bucky strapped to that table. Or when Bucky turned up at his door in Brooklyn, seventy seven years later.

See? He can remember  _some_ things. Mostly to do with Steve.

//

“Would you say that the man who killed your brother is, without any doubt in your mind, Mr. Carrol, the man sitting on the dock in front of us?”

Mr. Carrol nods. “Yes, he is.”

He's the third witness Mendez has brought up. The third person to describe the horror of losing a loved one right in front of them at the hands of a Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Steve hasn't stopped staring at him.

Bucky watches with a shaking hand and a strained expression as Mendez shows pictures of people he's killed. Even if they seemed apparently extremely fucking  _evil_ , like Martin Carrol, he still murdered them. With a garotte, this time, apparently.

He's pretty sure he's going to be sick soon.

Murdock, who sits to his left, is perfectly calm. He writes something down occasionally, or murmurs something to Nelson. They show no signs of distress or worry about this case, even though their client is being charged with over sixty different accounts of murder.

Either they're the best damn lawyers in the city or they're suffering from acute brain damage, Bucky thinks, his brain running on a hazy wire in his head.

//

After endless hours of both Murdock and Mendez questioning witnesses, Mendez calls up a data analyst from the CIA. The courtroom collectively leans in.

Murdock is good in court. He has a quiet voice, but it rings clear as a bell, and whilst he's not overconfident he definitely knows his shit. He asks good questions and the rare flashes of a smile that he gives make the audience settle, warm to him.

Bucky doesn't trust him.

Not that Murdock will fuck up his case, no, but the guy has  _something_ about him. A secret. He's got the muscles for an agent, and Bucky hasn't forgotten about the bruised ribs.

He wants to tell Steve, because Steve is too trusting. Or at least, he remembers Steve as being too trusting. He isn't entirely sure if that's still the case.

_He isn't entirely sure_ should be the title of his autobiography. That or the accounts of brutal murder that's coming out of Mendez's mouth right now.

He risks a glance at Steve, who's shaking his head slightly to himself every now and then. Looks drawn and tired and scared, because how in the hell will they win this, how does he think Bucky can go  _free_ after this?

Maybe he is guilty, Bucky considers. He isn't entirely sure.

//

The data analyst is a woman named Lara Reuben. She's a strange looking woman, with thick, dark hair, piercing eyes. She seems pretty cheery except for when she glances at Bucky, which is when she goes quieter, looks rather afraid.

No different from everyone else.

“It was you who found these documents, Mrs. Reuben?” Mendez says, and two images appear on the screen. Bucky can't read them from this distance, doesn't recognise them. They're blacked out in places with red circles in others.

Reuben nods. “Yes, I was heading up a team attributing past crimes to Hydra.”

“Could you read out the highlighted information on the first document, please?”

“ _Asset to_ _35.1345, -90.0576. Date: 4/4/68._ ”

Mendez nods. “Thank you. Could you tell me what  _ Asset _ means?”

Bucky knows this one. Feels like raising his hand as if he were in class.  _ Me, me, me _ .

“As far as the CIA is aware, the Winter Soldier, or, um, Mr. Barnes, is known as the Asset,” Reuben says. “The deaths attributed to him and the labwork all shows up with _Asset_ written on them just after his capture, where he's referred to as _Barnes_.”

Bucky closes his eyes.

“Those in the court who are not familiar with the coordinates given should know that they are for Memphis, Tennessee. The date is April fourth, nineteen sixty eight,” Mendez says.

Reuben nods. Looks happy to help. Bucky feels like he's going to vomit from the tension. The room is whispering like a fire.

Sam Wilson, the man to Steve's left, looks very pale.

“The date and coordinates match to the time and place that Martin Luther King, Jr was assassinated,” Mendez states.

The room bursts.

Bucky doesn't know who Martin Luther King, Jr is. Apparently he's important. Sam is whispering something to Steve. Bucky just looks at them both. Has the distinct feeling that he's about to be punished, put in the chair again.

Once Judge Rey has calmed everyone the hell down, Mendez continues. “Was there any evidence to counter this inference, Mrs. Reuben?”

“Not exactly,” Reuben says. “I wouldn't call it certain, but at this moment in time, there is no evidence to suggest that the Winter Soldier did not kill Martin Luther King.”

The noise level rackets up. Bucky blinks, there are claw marks on the walls. He blinks again. They're gone.

Mendez has Reuben read out the next document. The coordinates this time are _ 32.77903, -96.80867 _ .

“The coordinates are for Dallas, Texas, on November twenty-second, nineteen sixty three.”

Bucky hears a very, very faint, “Oh, shit,” from Sam Wilson.

As Mendez drops the bomb and the room bursts once more, Bucky realises he killed a president.

//

Court is over for the day. Bucky sits curled over himself as Murdock and Nelson talk about his case, as the courtroom slowly empties.

Steve leans over the stand. Bucky wants to touch him. And if Steve knew that he'd go,  _ that's great, Bucky _ because he's always excited when Bucky  _ wants _ something. Back in the apartment in Brooklyn, Bucky asked for water. Food. Asked for some new clothes, later on. 

He's still grasping at the fact that he is  _ allowed _ things. He can ask for stuff he needs ( _ and wants _ , he hears Steve's voice tacked clumsily onto the end) and he's got a right to certain things. 

They feed him, in his maximum security cell. They make sure he washes. The water is cold, cold, like the ice, and Bucky hates it.

“I believe we can still win Mr. Barnes's case. In fact, I'm confident in it,” Murdock is saying to Sam, who's looking at him like he's grown another head.

“I mean – and, no offence, man, you know I'm on your side – if they're saying he _killed JFK,_ then aren't the chances a little thin? What can you possibly have up your sleeve that beats that?”

Murdock merely offers his placid smile and turns back to his papers. Even Nelson sighs.

Bucky is going to jail, he realises this now. He's going to live out his days in a maximum security facility. It's not the fault of Nelson, or Murdock, or Mendez. It's him. It's him, it's him, it's him, it's -

“Bucky.”

Steve.

He looks up.

Steve's face is kind and open, and they look at each other for a long, long while. Bucky remembers being so in love with this man and it comes back to him as if it never left. It probably didn't. Whilst he was killing a president, an activist, a father, a sister, he was in love with Steven Grant Rogers.

Steve always was persistent. The man on the bridge who survived the wiping. Fuck you, Hydra, Bucky thinks, bitterly. Couldn't get rid of Steve even if they tried to torture him out. Which, they had.

“I'm okay, Steve,” he rasps out. Steve nods.

“I know you are. We'll win this thing.”

_ No we won't.  _ “Well, we won the war. Can't be much harder than that,” he says. The guards come back to take him back to the facility-- his potential future home, maybe.

Steve smiles. Everything is worth it.

//

There is a buzz in the courtroom when Tony Stark shows up (late) for his testimony. He gives Steve a friendly wave, nods at Bucky, who just blinks at him.

Howard and Maria Stark. Now that, he remembers.

Bucky had never  _ known _ any of his targets. He'd never conversed with them. Had just showed up, killed them, left again. He'd known Howard. Not well, sure, and he doesn't have all his memories of him, but he did know him.

Howard was brilliant. A little frosty at times, but constantly cracking inappropriate jokes, running on his own process of thought and would only think to update anyone else when prompted.

Good guy, though.

It was one of his first memories to come back. Of walking in front of that car, sending his foot into the front. Car flipping over him. Bucky sent an explosive into the front seats just to be sure.

_ Mission complete _ echoes in his brain, he exhales roughly. Nelson glances at him.

Tony Stark, whom Bucky doesn't know, whose existence he never acknowledged even when he killed his parents, takes a seat in the witness box. He's nonchalant, checking his phone, flashing grins at the audience before being sworn in. The tension in his shoulders is evident, though.

“Can you confirm that your parents were Howard and Maria Stark?”

Stark nods. “Yes, that is true,” he says.

Mendez hums, non committal in the back of her throat. “And could you tell me how your parents died, Mr. Stark?”

“I was under the impression,” Stark begins. “That they were killed in a car accident. Now that SHIELD – or, let's say Hydra – has had its files dumped for everyone to see, I became aware that that wasn't quite true. My parents were murdered,” he says. And his expression is carefully blank. No more jokes.

Mendez peers at him over her glasses. It's difficult to say where Stark's alliances lie; Steve had called him a friend of sorts, a teammate, but Bucky isn't so sure that applies to the guy who murdered his parents.

“Mr. Stark, is the man sitting in the dock the same man who killed your parents?” she asks.

“No.”

Pause.

The crowd is clearly confused. Mendez presented a file before Stark came on, showing that Bucky's coordinates and time registered a hit. Specifically, the murder of the Starks. And Tony himself is some kind of tech enthusiast or something, like his dad, so he's seen the documents. Hell, Bucky  _ remembers _ killing them. 

“No?” Mendez asks.

“No,” Stark replies, almost flippantly. Almost. “The man who killed my parents wasn't a man at all. It was the _Asset_ , as Hydra so fondly calls him, who did. The man sitting right there is not the Asset.”

Mendez arches an eyebrow. “Mr. Stark,” she says. “Whilst that's very poetic, Mr. Barnes did not resist his arrest. Acknowledged his crimes when he worked under Hydra.”

Stark shakes his head. “I've seen what terror groups like Hydra do. I've experienced it first hand, which you might be aware of.”

There's a smattering of awkward laughter that Bucky doesn't understand.

“There was a man with me in Afghanistan, a guy called Yinsen. They'd killed his family, they'd tortured him. He did whatever they wanted him to do,” Stark carries on.

Mendez looks a little struck, and she clears her throat. “Mr. Stark,” she starts, trying to steer him back. Stark isn't having any of it, apparently. He just steams ahead.

“They tortured _me_. Held my head underwater, cut off my breathing. And it took me about two minutes to say I'd do whatever they wanted, which was to use my considerable skills to build a weapon. From the files we got from Hydra, we know that it took them a whole lot longer and a whole lot worse than that to even put a dent in Barnes's resolve. So, no, the man who killed my parents is not the man standing trial.”

The chatter in the courtroom swells and becomes frenzied like an out-of-control orchestra. Judge Rey calls for order, Mendez dismisses Stark. Bucky is staring at this man, this man whose  _ parents _ he  _ murdered _ , who gives him a wave and gives Steve a frilly salute. Steve just stares back and mouths, amidst the commotion,  _ thank you _ .

//

Murdock stands up. The room goes quiet. Despite the fact that he isn't a particularly well-known lawyer, one with absolutely no reputation at all, he's got that kind of presence. It's like what Steve had in the war. The ability to make men shut the hell up.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Murdock says, in his smooth, pleasant voice. “The prosecution has been very detailed in its presentation of the crimes credited to the Winter Soldier. In this defense, we will also present information that may be rather shocking.”

Nelson clicks a button in his hand, and an image comes up onscreen. It's Bucky. He's a little smaller than he is right now – even with the weeks away from Hydra and the subsequent weightloss, the guy on the screen has been starved. His hair is shaggy, he's got a beard.

He's naked. Soaking wet, as well, curled up against the wall and looking at the camera with furious eyes.

Bucky's hand starts shaking. He remembers this.

Remembers getting stripped off to be hosed down every now and then, the water hitting him like a well-aimed punch. It was  _ freezing _ . He remembers the grit of the cell floor underneath his feet, the sickly buzzing light, the rats, holy fuck, the  _ rats _ -

He's distantly aware of Murdock still talking and listing off dates presumably relating to his capture, Nelson flicking through other images now, of an empty Hydra base. Bucky doesn't really listen.

Time passes in beats of a bird's wing. Bucky recovers from the memory, but his head still feels muggy, the ache in his shoulder more pronounced.

“It's estimated that the destabilisation of Mr. Barnes occurred in this base, before he was moved to a secure facility in Siberia,” Murdock states.

Bucky knows. For one of the first times he  _ knows _ , because he was  _ there _ .

//

“I'm sure that members of the court will question, why Mr. Barnes? There were plenty of men who were more highly trained or skilled. And yet they took Mr. Barnes to be their soldier,” Murdock says.

Bucky hates these theatrics in court. Mendez did it. Murdock does it less, but he still does. Bucky knows it's necessary to _win_ but fuck, it's annoying. Like his life is a bedtime story, a warning to naughty children. Be good, or you might end up like Bucky Barnes.

“With the aid of Captain Rogers, we now know that Mr. Barnes was experimented on when a large portion of the 107th infantry was captured in October 1943. Mr. Barnes was forced into harsh manual labour. When he became too weak to continue, he and eleven other prisoners of war were taken to an infirmary to be experimented on by German scientist, Arnim Zola.”

Bucky exhales. He hates how every memory he has is violent. He remembers in brutal detail the murders of some of his targets, of screams and blood on his metal hand. He remembers needles sliding into his skin and cuts and burns and shouts.

What he  _ doesn't _ remember are the idyllic summers Steve described to him, of sharing ice cream on the docks and chasing each other through sunlit Brooklyn streets. Bucky wants those memories desperately, but they're still gone, lost in some murky abyss. He's not sure if they're ever going to come back.

Murdock continues. “Of the twelve subjects, Mr. Barnes was the only one to survive Zola's experiments. He was injected with a rudimentary version of the Rebirth Serum that was given to Captain Rogers by Doctor Erskine.”

Murmurs in the courtroom. Bucky wants to close his eyes, wishes for a selfish moment that he could be like Murdock, who can't see the images that flick over the screen. Himself, his bicep a mangled, red stump. Himself, laying unconscious on a table. Himself, curled away from the camera in a filthy cell. Himself, losing himself.

“When he was captured after he fell in the Alps, Mr. Barnes fought. As shown by the notebooks kept by the scientists and Zola himself, he attempted time and time again to rebel against his captors. Your honour, please read the transcript of this document, if you will.”

Rey takes the paper, scans it carefully. “ _ Asset is consistently resistant to persuasive measures. Often thrashes when touched, must be strapped down upon testing _ .”

Murdock's lip curls. “The testing was, to be perfectly candid, torture. Zola was offered a position in SHIELD in 1945, less than a year after his capture. It was then that he began experimenting on Mr. Barnes and painstakingly rebuilding Hydra.”

The information is harder to process than the accounts of the killings at his hands. Bucky wonders if that makes him a bad person. Steve would shake his head, clap his shoulder.  _ Bucky, no _ . Steve is silent, a few feet away from him.

“Mr. Barnes, as shown by the following video, would often lash out at his captors, attempting to break free.”

Fuck, Bucky doesn't want to watch this.

The video plays regardless of his silent wishes. He's lying on a table naked. Three scientists are quietly cutting into the skin of his arm, one of them pressing something against it. Judging from the way it gleams, it looks like the start of his metal arm. Bucky watches himself jerk and twist off of the table, brandishing a scalpel at one of the doctors, swiping at him uselessly as armed guards hold him back. In the video, he's hit hard over the head with something and collapses forward. The screen goes black.

Steve looks like he's either going to throw up or kill someone.

Bucky inhales roughly. Nelson and Murdock had to go through all this footage, talked to him about what they were going to show, but didn't show him all of it. Not this, at least. It hurts.

Murdock carries on. He advises anyone “sensitive to the sight of gore and torture” to leave the courtroom. A few people scurry out but the rest stay, a sick fascination evident on their faces. Watch him dance, watch him die. Bucky suddenly hates them.

Murdock can't see the images, but narrates them through his notes. Occasionally he has Nelson confirm something for him but aside from that, he carries on uninterrupted. His manner is precise, clinical, but damning.

He looks at Steve for a fair bit of it, who looks very ill. Sam is pressing a gentle hand to his back, occasionally whispering something to him that Bucky can't hear. He feels cut off from them both.

For other parts, he forces himself to watch. The memories play in his head along with the videos, which covers about a fraction of how bad it was. Some come back as he watches, others take a few minutes longer. They snap back into place like jigsaw pieces, fit far better than Steve's dreamlike accounts of pre-war New York.

The crowd gasps, some turn their heads away, others cry. Steve is silent and ghostly white, shakes his head when Sam presumably offers to take him outside.

Bucky watches himself die onscreen over and over and over again.

//

The lights come up. The courtroom is considerably emptier than before. Steve's eyes are red and his shoulders are shaking. Even Sam Wilson, who seemed pretty unshakeable the few times Bucky met him, has left the room.

Bucky himself is in a bad way. He's finding it hard to breathe, there's a tightness in his head that feels like he's back in the chair again. He tastes ice and metal against his teeth. His skin – fuck, his skin feels like it's being flayed open, like every piece of torture in Murdock's slides is falling down on him like the debris from the helicarrier.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers.

“Mr. Barnes -” Murdock says, quietly, and Judge Rey holds up a hand slightly.

“Would the defendant like to request a recess?” she asks.

Bucky shuts his eyes tight, thinks, one two three four five six. One two three four five six. Opens his eyes.

“Sorry. I'm – okay. Sorry. We can carry on.”

Silence in the courtroom. There's a distinct sense of will-he-or-won't-he, the will-he being _will James Buchanan Barnes go insane in this very courtroom?_

He won't. It would hurt Steve.

There's a pregnant pause, everyone glancing at each other, before the whole damn song and dance carries on once more. Bucky's fritzy temperament was just a cough in the middle of the performance, a distant _hey, shut up_.

Half an hour later, Murdock calls a Doctor Sebastian Dubcek to the stand. Bucky remembers a quiet, hard voice and a _open your mouth, soldier_ , the bitter taste of pills and a hand on his mouth to force him to swallow.

He doesn't remember much else. Small mercy, he figures, and fixes his eyes on the doctor.

“Could you tell the court your exact role in relation to Mr. Barnes?” Murdock says, fingers running over the Braille sheet in his hand.

Dubcek shifts uncomfortably. Bucky kind of wants to spit at him. “I oversaw the memory wipes of the As- Mr. Barnes.”

“Could you tell us what these memory wipes entailed?” Murdock asks.

“We would send, uh. We would send electric currents through his brain. There was a machine designed to do specifically this,” Dubcek says, and Bucky knows the image is coming but it knocks the wind out of him as the chair appears onscreen. _No, no, no_ , he thinks, has to shut his eyes for just a second. Steve looks at him with eyes blue like the ice and Bucky can't return his gaze.

Murdock steps a little closer to the witness stand. It's intimidating as shit. “Could you confirm that this was the device used to send these electric currents through Mr. Barnes's brain?”

Dubcek nods hesitantly. “Yes, uh. Yes, it was. I had a role in upgrading the design.”

More images. Ones of the blueprints of the chair, scribbles in German and Russian.

“Could you tell us why, Mr. Dubcek, this device required an upgrade?”

Murdock already knows the answer. So does Bucky.

Dubcek is sweating, his eyes darting around the room. Little bit late for a guilty conscience, Bucky thinks, but it's nice to watch him squirm like the rat he is. “Mr. Barnes would remember things, I was told. Not major things, and not enough to make a big difference. In the reports it stated that he would often – he would often ask after Captain Rogers.”

Steve's intake of breath is jagged, cuts Bucky open as it leaves his lungs. “What was the specifications of the device, the upgrade?” Murdock asks.

“Cut out these memories completely. It was required that, uh. That Mr. Barnes would not be able to remember his name, history. Personality.”

“Could Mr. Barnes have had any moral agency whilst being being regularly subjugated to this device?”

“Absolutely not.”

The court murmurs. They're no longer people anymore, they're just _the court_ , encompassing judge and jury and the audience packed into the too-small room. They're a consumer of his pain, his story, of _him_ , and they will judge him. A little like God, but Bucky's never quite believed in that, not since the war.

“Could Mr. Barnes make decisions for himself?”

“No.”

“Could he dissent against his captors, refuse to follow orders?”

“No.”

Bucky tastes metal in his mouth. Feels it frame his head.

“Doctor Dubcek, what was the exact goal, in the creation of the Winter Soldier?”

“The aim was to make a weapon. And – we did,” Dubcek states, his voice almost quivery under Bucky's stony expression, Murdock's cold interrogation. The fact that Steve looks two seconds away from jumping over the barrier and strangling him probably doesn't help either.

_You will be the new fist of Hydra_ , Bucky hears in his head. Feels a little nauseous.

Murdock turns to the jury. “Mr. Barnes could not judge whether killing a man was wrong or right. The torture he underwent, the use of the device shown, highlights how Mr. Barnes was unable to think for himself during his time as the Winter Soldier. No further questions,” he says, and Bucky wonders, maybe, if they can win this thing.

//

“There are over a thousand people outside,” Steve says to him during the midday recess. Bucky is surrounded by guards. Steve, as the country's resident darling, gets a fair bit of leeway.

Bucky blinks, raises his eyebrows. “All for little old me. I'll be stealing your fame, Captain,” he says, and Steve grins. Bucky is exhausted but that brilliant smile is enough to make him crack one back.

“How's your shoulder?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs a little. “Hurts more now that it's gone. I'm not gonna get it back if I lose,” he says, even though they don't know that yet.

Steve nods. He's not really much of an optimist anymore, Bucky realises. The kid with a big heart and bigger dreams went into the ice. “Which is why we're gonna win,” he tells him. “Stark is sweeping it for explosives, triggers, that kind of thing.”

“Find anything?” Bucky asks. Steve pauses.

“Two remote explosives, one chemical release. He's taken them out, I think. I don't really understand his texts.”

They're quiet for a little while, just looking at each other. Bucky likes looking at Steve, although Steve, he knows, finds it a little unnerving sometimes. Bucky just likes taking in the features of his face, trying to match them to his memories. 

“How're you sleeping?” he asks after a minute. Bucky shakes his head. 

//

The trial has been going on for three days. Bucky catches roughly two hours a night, gets fed truly dire slop that he barely touches. Whenever they get a moment to talk, Steve murmurs to him that he needs to  _eat_ , that he's going to be as skinny as he was before the Serum. Bucky waves him off.

He doesn't remember eating when he was the Soldier. Murdock's photos from Hydra show him being fed through a bag. 

A memory comes back to him as he's escorted through the crowds into the courthouse. Him and Steve, eating a hot dog on the docks. It's kind of a nothing memory – he doesn't remember any talking or conflict or anything specific that makes it important enough to come back to him. But that's kind of a good thing, Bucky reasons. He remembers the hot dog being good.

“Do you remember Nathan's?” he says to Steve, who takes his place right in front, as usual. Steve gives him one of his sunlight-bright smiles that seem reserved only for Bucky, these days.

“Yeah, Bucky. I do. They're still going, you know,” he tells him. Bucky blinks. His brow furrows as he does the math, but Steve beats him to it.

“One of the few things in this city older than us, huh?”

Bucky smiles for the first time in a long time.

//

Natasha Romanov walks in with considerably less jokes and fanfare than Stark, but infinite amounts more confidence. She looks like she knows the intimate details of every single juror. Probably does.

There are a lot of whispers as she's sworn in. As she describes how Bucky – the Winter soldier – fuck, who knows anymore? - shot a bullet right through her into his target. Bucky doesn't quite remember that. He does remember fighting with her on the Southeast Freeway, though. Remembers his tactical brain flicking through gears, senses telling him  _Soviet-trained_ and  _assassin_ and cataloguing each weak spot.

_Arm_ , he remembers. Natasha Romanov sustained a fracture in her humerus at some point in her life and it didn't heal correctly. The Soldier figured that one out. It was why her fighting style was focused on her legs, agility rather than strength. Unlike Steve, who's still throwing punches like he's beating up Adolf Hitler all those years ago.

Mendez's questions on her testimony centre around trying to make it irrelevant. Romanov was ex-KGB. The brainwashing wasn't quite in the same style as Bucky's, since she was taken as a child. It's a fair point, he figures.

Mendez states that Romanov cannot bring anything new to light on Bucky's brainwashing but Romanov counters her at every point, occasionally shooting glances at Steve which show that Bucky has a new ally.

First Stark, now Romanov. Steve. Sam Wilson. Bucky finds it bizarre that the people he has tried to kill are fighting on his side.

Murdock steps up after Mendez's questions are finished, and, well. He doesn't hold back. “Ms Romanov, how would you describe the difficulty of defecting to SHIELD from the KGB?” he asks, and Bucky thinks,  _Christ_ .

Romanov seems to expect this, though. “It's like trying to escape from a room with no doors or windows,” she says. Bucky watches her with hollow eyes. “And there's nothing you can do but claw at the walls and hope you make a dent in them. And every time you think you've broken out, you've got another foot of wall to pick at, piece by piece.”

The whole room is hanging on her every word. They are flies caught in her web.

“How difficult would you say it would be for Mr. Barnes to leave Hydra after its collapse, to go to Captain Rogers and seek his help?”

Romanov looks right at Bucky. “Almost impossible. I wouldn't know of anyone in so deep that could even get close to – going to their own  _target_ , not trying to follow orders that were programmed into their head,” she says.

“Thank you, Ms Romanov,” Murdock says, and adjusts his glasses. “No further questions, your honour.”

//

Bucky wonders if this trial is ever going to fucking  _end_ .

The information overload is giving him nightmares on the rare occasions he does sleep. He manages to eat only because he doesn't like feeling lightheaded in court, and drinks water when Steve or Murdock or Sam prompts him to. He's silent, stewing in memories that once were his own.

“Please state your name and occupation for the record.”

Sam Wilson takes a deep breath, obviously uncomfortable, but with a grim determination about him that Bucky rather admires. “Samuel Thomas Wilson. I'm a counsellor working for the Department of Veterans' Affairs,” he says.

_Veteran_ . Bucky wonders if that's what he is.

Mendez questions him about the Southeast Freeway. “What were your initial impressions of the Winter Soldier?” she asks.

Sam breathes out. “I told Steve that he wasn't the kind of guy you save. He was the kind of guy you stop. My opinions have changed, since then, though,” he adds on, but to Bucky it feels too hurried, tacked-on. Sam is right, anyway.

He tunes in and out of Sam's testimony, surfacing to phrases like  _pulled my steering wheel out of the windshield_ and  _ripped one of my wings off my suit_ . It's not great. Sam's testimony is completely honest but it shows Bucky as someone brutal and violent who fights against the good guys. He's  _right_ .

Things get slightly more positive when Murdock starts his own questioning. “Mr. Wilson, you were the one to find Captain Rogers on the banks of the Potomac, correct?”

Sam nods. “True,” he says.

“And you were the one who called the emergency services?”

“True.”

Murdock nods slightly to himself, pale fingers sliding absently over his cane. “Mr. Wilson, could you describe what you saw on the banks of the Potomac?” he asks.

Sam's eyes flick from Bucky, to Murdock, to Steve. Nervous? Bucky isn't sure, but probably. “Footprints,” Sam says. “Steve had been dragged from the water.”

Whispers run through the courtroom like snakes in a jungle. Steve knows this already, but he's looking at Bucky with an expression that makes him distinctly uncomfortable. It's almost  _loving_ . Bucky loves Steve, as he's repeated to himself a thousand times. But he doesn't deserve to be loved back.

Murdock carries on almost placidly. “If you could hazard a guess, how much does Captain Rogers weigh?” he asks politely.

Sam makes a face. “I don't need to guess. He's damn heavy. I know this from experience. At least two hundred pounds, probably more.”

Steve is smiling, looking rather amused at all of this, sharing a look with Sam that Bucky doesn't understand. The crowd titters.

“And would you say that, in order to rescue Captain Rogers's body from the bottom of the river, swim the mile to shore and leave him on the bank, it would take extreme levels of strength?” Murdock asks.

Sam nods. “Uh huh, absolutely. Superhuman levels of strength, actually. Bucky – Mr. Barnes was the only one who saw Steve fall.”

“So we can conclude that it was Mr. Barnes who rescued Captain Rogers from the bottom of Potomac, actively choosing to save his life,” Murdock continues, like two lines of the same song.

“Yes,” Sam says.

The audience murmurs again, the perpetual chorus to this neverending musical number.

Steve mouths,  _thank you_ .

//

Bucky doesn't recognise the elderly man wheeling towards the witness box until he speaks.

“State your name and occupation for the record,” Rey says.

“Gabriel Jones. I'm retired.”

Holy shit, Bucky thinks.  _Gabe_ .

“Mr. Jones, you examined Mr. Barnes after the liberation from Azzano, is that correct?” Mendez asks.

Gabe nods. “Yup. Medics were pretty busy, but Bucky and I had been friends before we got captured. Wanted to see how he was faring after the experimentation.”

“And what did you find?”

Gabe is old now, wrinkled and raspy. There's a blanket over his knees, medals on his chest that Bucky doesn't remember him getting. He wasn't there. He wish he had been. “He was real tired. Said as much, too, was always complaining about this or that.” The crowd laughs. “I wasn't a medic, but as far as I could see, he wasn't bleeding, didn't have anything broken. In the war that was more or less a clean bill of health.”

Mendez hums quietly. “So you found no evidence or torture on Mr. Barnes?” she asks. Or states, really.

Gabe's expression twists into something annoyed. “Hey – I never said that,” he protests. “He was different after Azzano – it affected him in ways that weren't just physical.”

“Would you say that Mr. Barnes was more secretive after Azzano?” Mendez asks.

“Well, yeah. Was quieter, too.” _Oh Gabe_ , Bucky thinks. “Lost a lot of that joking manner he had.”

Mendez isn't smiling but Bucky's pretty sure that if she could, she would. “Ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Barnes was certainly affected by his capture – drew away from his team and kept secrets, but he was not tortured. Would you not say, Mr. Jones, that it is possible that Mr. Barnes could have struck a deal with Hydra in order to preserve his life?”

Gabe's expression is thunderous. “No, no, absolutely not. Bucky was – he was one of the most loyal guys on the damn team, stuck to Steve like a limpet. He'd never betray his country like that,” he says, and Bucky looks down at his hand again.

“The evidence presented shows he already has,” Mendez says coolly. “No further questions, your honour.”

//

Everyone is buzzing when Steven Grant Rogers is called to the stand. Captain America, the Man With The Plan, American hero and the bravest of them all. Standing trial at his murderer buddy's weakening defence.

The suit is ill-fitting on him. He looks like he's going to a funeral. He also looks like he hasn't slept in days.

He matches Bucky, then, except Bucky is in prison clothes like his sentence has already been decided.

Murdock goes first, smiling in Steve's direction. It's a little unnerving. “Captain Rogers, could you describe the moment you first realised Mr. Barnes was alive?”

Steve relaxes a little at that.  _Real nice_ echoes in Bucky's head and he thinks, okay, fair enough. “It was on the Southeast Freeway with Sam and Natasha. The HYDRA reinforcements were attacking civilians – whilst drawing them away, we, uh. We fought. His mask came off, and that's when I recognised him.”

Murdock nods, steps quietly over the floor. “And he was, without a shadow of a doubt, who you thought he was?” he asks.

“Yes,” Steve says. “I knew his face, his voice. His eyes. He was broader and his hair was longer, and his expression was – _nothing_ , really. Like I didn't even exist. But I knew it was him.”

“And did he attempt to attack you again?” Murdock asks.

Steve hums in affirmative. “Yes. There was a pause, though. Only for a few seconds, but he could've shot me in that window, and he didn't. Then Natasha fired, and he disappeared.”

Murdock runs his fingers over the Braille on one of his papers, again. “Mr. Nelson, if you please,” he says, and Nelson slips a drive into the computer. A grainy video starts – another one of Bucky in the lab, but more recent than the others, he can tell. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following video was obtained recently with thanks to Ms Romanov. It shows Mr. Barnes the day of his meeting with Captain Rogers.”

The video is just security footage, not like the test videos they had cameras set up for. Bucky remembers this though.

He's surrounded by guards, who only lower their guns when Alexander Pierce waves a hand. “Mission report.”

Silence.

“Mission report, now.”

Onscreen, he doesn't move. Stares at the floor.

Alexander Pierce backhands him, hard, across the face. Steve gasps quietly. The audience collectively jerk back. 

Bucky just watches. Apparently Pierce is dead. Good, he thinks, venomously. 

“The man on the bridge. Who was he?” His own voice is dusty with disuse. Steve is staring at the screen with wide, pained eyes.

“You met him on an assignment earlier this week,” Pierce says, looking at him intently. The video is just surveillance, not like the properly filmed video accounts of the experimentation. But Bucky remembers every detail of this. It was one of the first things to come back.

“I knew him.”

Three words that could replace  _I love you_ , really, and Bucky hopes Steve gets that message.

They watch like it's a movie, Pierce telling him how he  _shaped the century_ , how Bucky needs to do that  _one more time_ . Shit, he really fucked up that mission, didn't he?

“But I knew him.”

_I love him_ , Bucky thinks, fiercely, watching himself.

The video cuts out as he screams his way through another wave of electric shocks. The room is so silent Bucky can hear the snow hitting the windows.

“Mr. Rogers,” Murdock says. Steve twitches and comes back to himself. He answers Murdock's questions but his eyes are fixed on Bucky.

“Yeah, uh. Yeah. Sorry,” Steve blusters. Bucky finds himself smiling faintly.

“Could you tell us exactly what happened on that helicarrier?”

Steve closes his eyes for a moment, Bucky sees him tense up. “We were fighting, uh. He was trying to prevent me from taking down the helicarrier. I asked him to stop, tried to tell him who he was. He refused to accept it, but then I said something to him, and he stopped. Stopped everything, really. I couldn't talk to him because that was when I fell.”

_To the end of the line_ , Bucky thinks, and bows his head slightly, feeling his shoulder flare up again.

“What did you say to him?” Murdock says.

Steve's eyes track from Murdock to Bucky and back again. “It was a little phrase of ours. He said it to me when my mother died, before the war. I said it to him a couple times during the war. Something that stuck, I guess. That was what made him stop. He seemed in shock when I fell.”

“Do you believe that it's possible that Mr. Barnes could have been the one to rescue you from the Potomac?” Murdock asks intently.

Steve nods decisively this time. “Yes,” he says. “He was the only one that saw me fall. And it would've taken – like Sam said – superhuman strength to have been able to drag me out, especially with the injuries I inflicted on him.”

“Thank you, Captain Rogers.”

Mendez steps up. If Steve Rogers isn't the Man With The Plan, Mendez sure is. Well. Woman.

“Captain Rogers,” she says, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek, waiting for the punch. “Would you say you are biased when it comes to Mr. Barnes?”

Steve sighs, like he's been expecting this question. Probably has. “Yes,” he admits, haltingly. “He's my best friend, has been since childhood. We went to war together. We lived together. I can't be  _unbiased_ .”

Mendez nods and looks rather triumphant. “Would you say you disregard your own safety when Mr. Barnes is concerned?”

_Absolutely_ , Bucky thinks, before Steve mutters a reluctant  _maybe_ .

“Maria Hill's testimony of the events of the fall of SHIELD show that Captain Rogers ordered her to open fire on the helicarriers whilst he was still airborne. During the war, he conducted a one-man mission to Azzano in order to save Mr. Barnes and the 107th battallion – what many present called a suicide mission, as we are all aware. Despite the imminent danger, he ventured further in order to find Mr. Barnes. Two days after the death of Mr. Barnes, Captain Rogers crashed the plane into the Arctic Ocean. Is this correct, Captain?”

Steve has gone pretty white. Bucky is watching him with a growing sense of dread. “Yes,” he says, softly.

“Did you stop fighting Mr. Barnes at any point on that helicarrier, Captain Rogers?” Mendez asks. Steve says yes, again, and Bucky feels his stomach clench up, feels like he's going to be sick. 

“Steve -” he croaks, and Nelson shakes his head slightly at him.

Mendez's heels click quietly on the floor as she walks, each one a second on the clock, closer and closer to Bucky being hauled off to jail. “Did you attempt suicide on the helicarrier, Captain Rogers?”

“Objection,” Murdock says, very sharply, standing up. “This is leading the witness. And what exactly is the relevance of all this?”

Rey nods. “Sustained. Please take care in your phrasing of your questions, Ms Mendez,” she says.

Mendez nods respectfully. “Apologies. With regards to what you've told us, Captain Rogers, what exactly is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Barnes?”

Steve goes very, very still. Bucky watches and waits. Medez's heels are the click of a gun about to be fired.

“He's my best friend.”

“One would come to think otherwise,” Mendez states. “As you've said, you've risked your life, put yourself and Project Rebirth, of which you were the only subject, in harm's way multiple times for Mr. Barnes. You yourself believed you were letting yourself die not two days after Mr. Barnes's own death. What was, and is, the nature of your relationship with Mr. Barnes?” she asks again.

Steve shuts his eyes, opens them again. Looks his age, for once. “I love him,” he says, simply.

The gun goes off. Bucky feels his heart explode.

//

Judge Rey somehow – miraculously – manages to sustain order. There are a lot of shouts and beeps of phones. Bucky hears someone murmur  _Twitter is going insane_ . He doesn't know what Twitter is. But there's certainly a lot of insanity in this courtroom.

_He loves me, he loves me_ , his brain repeats, over and over like petals being plucked from a rose. The world can stop and Bucky can go to jail, to hell, because Steve Rogers loves him and that's the only damn thing that matters right then.

“Steve,” he breathes out. Steve responds with a cracked, watery smile.

Once everyone is (finally, Jesus) quiet, Mendez carries on, looking unsurprised. Smart woman, Bucky thinks. He probably would've mooned after someone like her, back in a smoky dance hall before the war. 

“Was Mr. Barnes ever aware of your feelings for him?” she asks and Steve shakes his head.

_Damn right I wasn't_ , Bucky thinks, as Steve says, “No, I never told him. Not during the war, not when he came back.” Because if he knew then he would've taken Steve's hands, would've kissed him and kissed him and never let him go.

“Do you believe that your feelings for Mr. Barnes are depriving you of your judgement of his crimes? Of the murders he has committed?”

“No,” Steve says, and despite the revelation, despite the whole damn world knowing that Captain America loves a _man_ , his voice seems a lot stronger. In the stands, Sam looks rather proud. “I know what he's done. I know who he is. That doesn't change my feelings, and my feelings don't change my views.”

It's a bit of a bold statement. Bucky can see some of the people in the audience raising their eyebrows. Bucky certainly knows that  _his_ judgement is shot to shit when it comes to Steve, because his heart gets in the way far too often.

Mendez seems to think so too. “You're telling me that if it were a stranger standing trial today, you'd still testify, same as ever?” she asks, the doubt lining her voice.

“Yes,” Steve says, almost forcefully. “I believe in doing the right thing, I think I've made that pretty clear.” The audience laughs. “Testifying for Bucky is what a good man would do, and I am, I hope, a good man.”

_You are_ , Bucky wants to breathe at him.  _You are, you are, you are_ .

Mendez arches an eyebrow. “I would ask this court if we can trust Captain Roger's testimony,” she says, turning her back on Steve, who looks – well. Bucky recognises that look from back-alley fights that ended in Steve sprawled on the floor, nose and mouth bloody. He forces back a smile.

He's going to hell but the road down is nice, he figures.

“I would ask this court if we can trust the testimony of a man who professes to love a man who has committed over seventy accounts of murder. Who has, as evidence suggests, killed one of the greatest activists of our time, one of the greatest presidents this country has ever seen,” Mendez says.

“Now you wait just a -”

“Captain Rogers, please,” Judge Rey says, fixing him with a look, and she reminds Bucky so strongly of Peggy Carter in that moment. Steve goes silent.

Mendez looks at Steve, looks at Bucky, and brushes down her skirt. “No further questions.”

//

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, under pains and penalties of perjury?”

Bucky chokes on his own spit. “I swear,” he says, his one hand pressed against the book. He tries to focus on the leather under his fingertips. It doesn't really work.

Facing the audience is difficult. Some are looking at him with disgust, or with pity. Some are surreptitiously filming him on phones, others typing at lightning speed. He looks at Steve. It helps.

Rey looks at him calculatingly. “State your name for the record.”

He's thrown. The Asset whips around his head first, the Soldier, the Fist of Hydra, and then –  _Bucky?_ Steve's voice, lost in the wind,  _your name is James Buchanan Barnes_ .

He trusts Steve. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he says.

Murdock takes a few steps forward. He can't see Bucky, but Bucky still feels like he's staring into his soul. It's unnerving. “How much of your memory would you say has returned, Mr. Barnes?” he asks.

Nelson said, just be honest. So Bucky is. “Not a lot,” he admits. “I get flashes, every so often. Most of the stuff I remember is from when I was being held by – by Hydra. And Zola,” he adds, softer. “A few things from before and during the war, but those are pretty patchy.”

“Well, please tell the court what you can recall from your captivity,” Murdock says. His voice is gentler now. Bucky nods slightly and belatedly realises he can't see it, fixes his eyes back on Steve instead.

“Should I start at the beginning?” he asks. Stupid question, he thinks. Hell, he shouldn't be asking questions at all, he is the _Asset_ , the Asset doesn't ask -

“That'd be best, yes,” Murdock says.

Bucky exhales. “There was a lot of pain. I'd lost part of my arm in the fall, and they, uh. They cut the rest of it off, up to the shoulder,” he says, gestures to the hollow sleeve at his left. “I was awake for that. I don't remember a lot, in the time between that, and – and getting the metal arm. It's in flashes.”

He can see Steve staring at him with those blue eyes, and the entire room feels like it's coming apart, bit by bit. The ceiling is flaking and falling like rain, the floor ripping up agonisingly slowly, and Steve is staring at him.

“What would you say is the most prominent memory, Mr. Barnes?” Murdock asks him.

Bucky dithers for a moment between  _Steve_ and -

“Pain,” he says. “Not – not from anything specific. Just pain. Everywhere. Like my body was burning. A lot of pain in my arm – they weren't really concerned with making me comfortable, they just wanted me to function as the Winter Soldier,” he explains, quietly. “They just – Zola said to me that I was going to be the new fist of Hydra.”

They didn't treat him like a person. But Bucky is still figuring out if he even  _is_ a person or not, so he leaves out that one.

Murdock ponders for a moment. “Did Hydra ever offer any kind of solution to this pain?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, feeling a phantom itch in his empty shoulder. “Zola, and, uh some of the other scientists. Guards. I can't remember names. But they all said, if I wanted the pain to stop, I had to cooperate with them. If I was obedient, then they'd stop the pain,” he says, his voice getting quieter and quieter until Murdock has to ask him to speak up a little.

“Did you ever accept these terms?” he asks him. Bucky shakes his head, because hell no. 

“No, I didn't. They didn't like that,” he says. There's an awkward laugh from a few people in the crowd.

“Mr. Barnes, aside from this, were you ever given the opportunity to make choices whilst in captivity?”

Bucky blinks. “I don't – I'm not sure I understand the question,” he says.  _Choice_ is a word Steve used a lot whilst Bucky stayed with him, post-Soldier.  _You wanna choose what we're having for dinner? Pick a movie for me? What do you want, orange juice or apple?_

Bucky has not been given the ability to  _want_ or  _choose_ in so long that they're almost alien concepts.

“What I'm asking is, could you ever say no to a mission? To treatment?” Murdock says.

Bucky stares at him incredulously. “No,” he says. “I wouldn't have ever known what I was saying no to, anyway. They never told me anything. No point.”

He can see Mendez mouth something subtly to herself – looks like  _convenient_ .

Murdock's questioning of him is kind, but extensive, probing in a way that's more than uncomfortable. Bucky doesn't want to talk about it but this is one of the things he can't choose. Sorry, Steve.

When Mendez steps over to him Bucky swallows down bile. Steve gives him a subtle thumbs-up in the audience, and he feels the his heart stop trying so hard to burst out of his chest.

“Mr. Barnes,” she says. _Shit_ , Bucky thinks. “How many of your kills do you recall?”

_Your_ kills. Bucky watches Steve bristle at that one. “Not a lot,” he says, honestly.

An image flicks onto the screen. It's two women, their arms around each other, laughing. “Do you remember killing these women?” she asks him.

“No,” he says.

Apparently the two women were Fiona McAllister and Josie Grant. Fiona worked for the British MI6, was close to uncovering a few of Hydra's dirty little secrets. Josie, her girlfriend, was an accountant. Had no idea of what Fiona was finding out.

Bucky killed them both. Fiona with a knife in the neck. Josie with one to the heart. He doesn't remember it but the blood is still on his hands.

“If Miss Grant posed no threat to Hydra, why did you kill her, Mr. Barnes?” Mendez asks, and Bucky feels a pain in his head.

“I don't know.”

“You don't know,” Mendez repeats, raising her eyebrows at him.

Bucky shrugs. It's the truth. “With Hydra, they – you've all seen the files. They liked to make a point. Make an example of people. Killing innocents was – part of their mindset – if it got the message across.”

The audience looks horrified, as does Mendez. As does everyone except for Steve, who just looks desperate. Probably because Bucky is botching any chance of a reduced sentence.

Mendez glances at the jury, then back to Bucky. “You do remember some of the killings, though?” she says.

“Yes,” Bucky says. _Please, please don't_ , he thinks. _Please don't_.

“What were your feelings, during these missions? What were your feelings whilst killing these people – sometimes innocent people?”

Murdock opens his mouth to object but somehow thinks better of it, murmurs something to Nelson, who scribbles something else down.

Bucky doesn't want to be alive. “I didn't feel anything,” he says.

“You felt no shame, no remorse? Counter to that, you agreed with your missions? Enjoyed them?”

“Objection! Leading.” Murdock states, loud and clear, stands up straight at the same time Steve does.

Rey nods. “Sustained. Please rephrase, Ms Mendez. Captain Rogers, please sit down.”

Steve stays standing for a moment, opens his mouth to say something – he's going to get himself thrown out and Bucky just - 

“Siddown, Steve,” he says to him.

“Bucky -”

“I sit _down_. I'm fine. It's okay, buddy.”

Rey huffs. “ _Mr._ Barnes, Captain Rogers, this is not a social event. Captain, please be seated,” she says, and Steve grumbles about it, but he sits down. Sam Wilson shoots him a sharp look. 

Bucky wants to smile but he feels as though it'd be inappropriate.

They manage to move on. Mendez asks him about the helicarrier, about Azzano. Her questions are clear but a little too open-ended, leaving Bucky floundering and looking like he's lying his ass off.

“We learned that Captain Rogers has harboured feelings for you since the thirties. How do you respond to this?” she asks him, and Bucky thinks, _oh boy_. He could write several books on his response to it. He'll stick with a sentence for now.

“Bit surprised,” he manages, and the audience laughs. “Mostly because if I'd have known, I'd have done something about it.”

He feels a roar in his head. Blood and lions.

“Could you elaborate?” Mendez says.

He shrugs. He seems to do a lot of that, these days. “I mean, I've loved him since we were fifteen, so -”

He's cut off by the wave of noise in the room. Steve is standing up again, the room bursting into chatter, beeps of phones and Rey irritatedly calling for order.

Steve is staring at him and Bucky can see a wetness around his eyes.  _Oh no, Stevie_ , he thinks. “Bucky,” Steve rasps, his voice shaken. 

Bucky nods. “Yeah, Steve,” he says. 

His heart is hammering against his bones, trying to break free from his chest, presumably so it can sail across the room and land in Steve's hands.

//

The room has been subdued. Bucky is starting to suspect that Judge Rey has some kind of superpower akin to Steve's. 

“Mr. Barnes, please tell the court about the moment you regained your own mind.”

_Jesus_ , Bucky thinks. “I didn't,” he snaps, too harsh. Nelson gives him a look. “Sorry,” he says, awkwardly, to whom he's not sure. Probably Steve. “It just – it came back slowly. When Steve said, uh, what he said to me. I didn't have this flood of memories coming back. I wasn't Bucky Barnes once more. I'm not sure if I am, even now, really,” he admits softly and he feels so fucking guilty about it. He  _wants_ to be Bucky Barnes. Steve wants him to be Bucky Barnes. And Bucky isn't sure if he'll ever be able to get to that point.

“But my point still stands, that it was Captain Rogers getting through to you on that helicarrier.”

Bucky nods. “Yes,” he says, and remembers Steve's muffled voice, remembers  _the end of the line_ and hates himself more than anything in the world.

“Mr. Barnes. In your career, you have killed innocents who opposed Hydra, you have killed _children_ , and yet you expect this court to believe that it was one man's voice that broke through to you?” Mendez says, sceptically. 

Bucky feels helpless, drowning. “I – I don't know what to tell you,” he says, shaking his head faintly. “I guess it was because it was the one thing that reminded me of my life before Hydra. Not a lot of those reminders left, in this world,” he states, because the twenty first century is baffling, even with his intimate knowledge of its means to kill. “Steve was from before and during the war. He was with me until the moment I fell. Him saying that phrase just – brought me back a little, I suppose.”

There's a pause and Bucky hears his own ragged breathing.

“No further questions.”

//

Mendez stands to make her closing statements, and Bucky is about two steps from falling off his chair. She's as calm as ever but passion sinks into her voice.

“Mr. Barnes has been complicit in the actions of Hydra,” she says, boldy, but fuck, it could be true for all Bucky knows.

“Mr. Barnes has not denied the murders credited to him. Has not even tried to. He is a murderer, a man who stands for everything this country does not, who has killed innocents and is responsible for the deaths of Martin Luther King, of President Kennedy, preventing monumental social change whilst working for an organisation that this country and Captain Rogers tried so hard to wipe off the face of the Earth,” she says.

“Those who can contradict Mr. Barnes's testimony are dead. He pleads his innocence under the guise of the loss of his memory. Men and women all around the world have been at the mercy of men _just following orders_. I implore the people of the court, and indeed, the country, to allow Mr. Barnes to face the consequences for his malicious acts of treason, of terrorism and massacre.”

It's brutal. Bucky can't tune out. It's a song stuck in his head, a litany of  _your fault, your fault_ . He wonders if this is what hell is like and figures it can't get much worse. 

It can, he thinks, after a second. Hell is a room without Steve in it.

//

“The question,” Murdock says, in that soft voice of his. “Is not whether the Winter Soldier is responsible for these crimes. It's whether James Buchanan Barnes is.”

“We must ask ourselves if the actions of Mr. Barnes are those of an innocent man. The constant resisting of his captors, even under debilitating torture and experimentation. The helplessness and hopelessness that was pushed upon him, the destabilisation and indeed, dehuminsation of Mr. Barnes until he ceased to exist as a man. Hydra turned him into a weapon. Now, as he finds himself once more, we must find him innocent, because whilst it may have been Mr. Barnes's finger on the trigger, it was Hydra who made the decision to fire.

“If Mr. Barnes had been complicit – wanting, even, to carry out Hydra's demands, then he would not be subjecting himself to this trial. Would not have sought out Captain Rogers's help. His skillset is well know – with it, he could have returned to one of the remaining Hydra bases with ease. Instead he is here, letting his country decide his fate. He rescued Captain America from the depths of the Potomac – his former target, in order to do which, Mr. Barnes had to grapple with decades of conditioning. We see a man fighting to do the right thing, as I implore the jury to do so today.”

Murdock and Nelson; The Producers.

Bucky looks at Steve during Murdock's closing statement, just because it makes him feel better. Steve's face is open and hoping and grateful, looks like the poster boy for America. All they need is a little red, white and blue.

“Mr. Barnes, is there anything you'd like to say to the jury before they retire to their chambers?” Judge Rey asks him, once Murdock sits back down. 

Bucky swallows. Steve's the one for speeches, not him. “No,” he murmurs. He can't. Murdock did a great job, Bucky doesn't want to screw that up for him.

The jury sidles out, all of them gawking at him like a stage monkey. He realises how Steve felt when knocking out Adolf Hitler in front of crowds in Denver, New York, Las Vegas. It's unpleasant.

Steve stares at him with soft eyes once the courtroom settles into chatter once more. Bucky allows himself this, to be able to stare at him, drink him in. 

A last meal, in a way.

//

The jurors debate for six hours.

It's two in the morning. Bucky is exhausted, his bones brittle and his shoulder on fire. He'd been given painkillers to help with it – too mild to do much, but he hasn't had any, and he  _hurts_ . He doesn't say anything, though. Every now and then Murdock or Nelson ask how he's doing and he grunts at them. They haven't asked in a while.

Steve doesn't look much better. His skin is practically grey. Bucky has never been so frustrated in his life. He just wants to  _talk_ to him, touch him, wrap his fucking arm around him and never let him go. Eighty-odd years ago, he couldn't quite reach Steve's hand. He's not going to miss him again.

The jurors walk back into the room and everyone looks up, tiredness forgotten, like a dozing hornets' nest receiving a swift kick. Bucky swallows, looks at Steve and thinks  _I'm sorry, I love you_ .

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” Judge Rey asks, looking as intent as they all fucking feel.

“We have, your honour,” the forewoman says. She steps forward when asks, hands folded at her front.

Bucky shuts his eyes.

“On the charges of seventy two different counts of murder, we find the defendant Not Guilty.”

Bucky opens his eyes.  _Oh my god_ , he thinks, his eyes wide and body burning.  _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my -_

“On the charge of terrorism against the people of the United States of America, we find the defendant Not Guilty.”

_Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh -_

“On the charge of treason against the government of the United States of America, we find the defendant Not Guilty.”

Bucky doesn't fall over. He doesn't throw up or gasp or cheer or cry. He doesn't do anything, really, just sits in shock whilst the room goes to shit around him.

Lucky for him, he doesn't need to do anything except stand up, which he does. Steve pushes through the crowds and onto the floor and drags him into a hug.

Bucky chokes a little bit. “Steve,” he whispers, feels wetness bead at the corners of his eyes, and hides his face in Steve's shoulder ( _still too big_ , his brain mumbles sluggishly). “ _Steve_.”

“I know, Buck, I know, I got you,” Steve whispers back at him, and holds him for a long, long time. He cups Bucky's face and presses a kiss to the corner of his eye, to his cheek and against his jaw.

It's a miracle that Bucky doesn't start to cry.

“I love you,” he tells Steve in clumsy whispers as Steve strokes the side of his face, staring at him urgently because Steve has to know this, he _has to_ , Bucky almost lost him and -

“I love you too,” Steve says. Knocks their foreheads together. Bucky closes his eyes.

//

What happens next is a bit of a blur. They come out on the steps of the courthouse to a mob of people, security guards just managing to keep them back. Some are in support of Bucky. Others, quite clearly, are not happy with the verdict.

The sky is black and Bucky looks up at it, stares at the stars, tries to sink into that abyss instead of the madhouse clamouring around his feet. Steve keeps a tight hold on his hand and ushers him into a car waiting for them, emblazoned with _Stark Industries_ on the door.

“Stark,” he mutters, once they're safe inside. Sam clambers in next to them. “I thought -”

“You're staying with Tony tonight,” Sam explains, slumping back into the seat, looking exhausted. They all are. “There's a lot of people waiting for you and Steve outside of his place. Figure you could use the privacy of Stark tower.”

Bucky nods, dumbly, because the man whose parents he killed is having him over for some kind of slumber party.

He starts, about twenty minutes through their journey. “Murdock – I never said -”

Steve rests a gentle hand on his good shoulder, shushing him, easing him back. “You're okay, Bucky. I talked to him. You'll get the chance after all this dies down a little. We'll send him a gift basket and a very large cheque,” he says, and glances at Sam, who nods.

“A _very_ large cheque, Jesus, Bucky. No offence but for a couple moments there, I thought we were, uh -”

Bucky manages a breathless, unsteady laugh. “Me too, Sam.”

He's quiet for the rest of the journey. Steve and Sam talk but Steve seems to sense that Bucky doesn't want to. He rests his head on Steve's shoulder and listens to the quiet noise of the car rolling through the streets. He's half asleep by the time they reach the tower.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Wilson,” a voice sounds out. Bucky looks around wildly for its source. Steve just looks rather exasperated. Sam, despite his tired state, looks kind of thrilled, so Bucky assumes there's no threat.

“Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are on the forty third floor. Mr. Wilson is on the forty first.”

Bucky blinks, still trying to find this man. “Who -”

“I am JARVIS, an artificial intelligence created by Mr. Stark. I oversee the operations of Stark Tower, amongst other things such as monitoring the systems at Stark Industries, coordinating security, and adhering to Mr. Stark's wishes.”

JARVIS. Only Howard's son would make a robot as his friend, Bucky figures. Before he can get even more confused, Tony Stark himself is coming into the lobby to greet them personally.

“Hey, Sam, good to see you again. Rogers, Barnes, congrats. Knew you'd get acquitted,” he says, shaking all of their hands. He escorts them up to their floors, chattering so fast that Bucky can't keep up. By the look on Steve's face, Steve can't either.

His arm – metal, outwardly unchanged – sits on a dining table as the elevator doors open to his and Steve's _floor_ , fucking hell. Wealth has always baffled Bucky, who grew up scraping coins together to afford Steve's medication.

Stark motions for him to sit down, take his shirt off. “Alright. Tell me if this hurts, that shouldn't happen,” he says, and carefully sets the arm back onto his shoulder without another word.

Stark is a whirlwind that's both a blessing and a curse after such an extensive trial. Bucky wants to go to sleep but he's also so wired that Stark's constant chatter and tech-related gibberish is serving to calm him down somewhat. On the other hand, he understands why Steve didn't want them staying here in the first place.

It doesn't hurt. The arm feels – well, like an arm, really. Dulled senses but that's normal. Stark would, apparently, like to “make some upgrades” and “tinker around with it – masterpiece of technology, really, and from the _forties_ -” and Steve thanks him and firmly shoos him out.

The silence aches a little after three days – four, really – of neverending questions and screaming nightmares. Bucky is _free_. The thought is daunting.

“How're you feeling, Buck?”

He looks up at Steve, who's watching him with those beautiful eyes, and he holds out his metal hand to him. Steve steps closer and closer, until he's stood in the V of Bucky's spread legs and Bucky can bury his face in his stomach, let his shoulders shake.

Steve smooths a hand through his hair, curls over him slightly. “I've got you,” he whispers, and it's so loving and gentle and Bucky has never been spoken to this way, not in his life, and he shakes more.

“Love you, Steve,” he manages, thickly. Steve's breath catches above him.

“I love you too, you sap,” he whispers. “C'mon. We're both dead tired. We need _sleep_.”

Bucky couldn't agree more. JARVIS points them to the bedrooms and bathroom, stating that there are clothes in their sizes in the boxes in the main room. There are two bedrooms. Bucky points at the one with the view and says, “We're using that one.” Steve blinks at him but follows.

Just outside the bathroom door he turns to him and, heart in his throat, presses his mouth against his. There's a tense moment where Bucky expects to be kicked or slapped for insubordination, for the lack of a mission report or failing to act within the mission's parameters.

Steve slips his arms around him and kisses him back.

It's not sexual. They stay like that, quiet and breathing, noses smushed into each others' cheeks and mouths pressing clumsy against each other, two people who have not been kissed in a long while. Steve slides a hand slowly into his hair, strokes it, touches their foreheads together. He whispers another _I love you_ against Bucky's mouth.

“Well, you were right,” Bucky mumbles to him. “We won the war.”

Steve laughs. Not just a little chuckle, either, but he laughs so long and hard that Bucky joins in too, until they're both quivering on each others' shoulders in hysteria and amusement and dog-tiredness and it's the best damn feeling he's felt in years.

They wash their faces and brush their teeth in the bathroom. Steve gently points him to a pair of pyjama pants, pulls some on for himself, and they collapse into bed.

Bucky's head finds a home on Steve's shoulder, Steve's arm around his waist. He thinks, _finally_ , and he sleeps without nightmares.

 


End file.
